


and we could dive in blind

by sunshiner



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Fluff, M/M, Prank Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:37:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7880389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshiner/pseuds/sunshiner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damen couldn't even remember how this thing with the Alpha Gamma Phi had started, but it needed to end.<br/>He didn't appreciate childish games and it wasn't his intention to spend his last year of uni playing them. If anything, not against their uni's damned <i>equestrian society.  </i><br/>Also, his one night stands kept asking him why he was wearing pink underwear that had obviously not started off as pink. It made for awkward pillow talk.</p>
<p>  <i>Fraternity AU. For the CP week prompt: dispute.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	and we could dive in blind

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Ready or Not" by Air Traffic Controller.  
> If anyone who knows anything about horse riding reads this, I'm sorry.

Damen only had time to step out of the shower and into a pair of - pink, that no amount of bleach could make return to their original colour - boxers before he heard the commotion.  

He went out of the bathroom and peeked downstairs, where all the members of the basketball team living in the house were standing in a line. They were wearing their white uni t-shirt, except a letter had been spray-painted on each front. It read "Alpha Gamma P".  

Nikandros, wearing the H, was making his way up the stairs and aggressively waiting a t-shirt at Damen - his, he guessed. They had left the captain for last.   

As expected, Damen's had a I in bright purple paint, plus a "'s bitch" added in black sharpie. A classy touch.  

Nikandros started shouting in his face.  

"This is the fucking last straw." A vein was pulsing on his forehead, which was the same red as the H on his chest. "I don't fucking care about fucking honour or bro code or bullshit, Damen. Laurent is going to fucking pay for this."  

"Yes," said Damen. "Yes he is."  

  

-  

  

Damen couldn't even remember how this thing with the Alpha Gamma Phi had started, but it needed to end.  

He didn't appreciate childish games and it wasn't his intention to spend his last year of uni playing them. If anything, not against their uni's damned _equestrian society_.  

Also, his one night stands kept asking him why he was wearing pink underwear that had obviously not started off as pink. It made for awkward pillow talk.  

Today, he was going to make a first attempt at negotiation. Laurent's class was bound to end any minute now (or so Nikandros had said; Damen hadn't inquired about the source of the information) and Damen was going to get through to him, captain to captain.  

Damen was lost thinking if equestrian societies actually had captains, and if they had team events that required the need of the captain, or if Laurent was just the unofficial mind of the operation, when students started trickling out of the lecture hall.   

Although Damen had never directly spoken to him before, Laurent, who was blond and lean and dressed like he was channelling an actor during an interview about his latest theatre role and his choice to go vegan, was easy to spot in a crowd.  

Damen, with his height and his width, was too, and Laurent smirked when their eyes met. He dismissed whoever was talking to him and made his way to Damen.  

"Hello, captain."  

"Laurent. We need to talk."  

"What about?" Laurent blinked his huge blue eyes at him. "Did something happen? Oh, did - what did they do now?"  

His voice was suddenly small and full of regret, his shoulders slumped with concern. Damen gaped at him.  

"I'm trying to get them to stop, I promise you, Damianos."  

"Damen, call me Damen," said Damen, a bit breathlessly.  

"It's Jokaste, she's so cruel." Laurent's bottom lip quivered. "But I will take the matter into my own hands. I will solve everything."  

He put a pale, dainty hand on Damen's bicep. Damen needed to sit down.  

"Okay," Damen said. "Yes, thank you."  

"Don't worry, Damianos."  

"Damen," Damen repeated.  

Laurent didn't answer, but gifted him with a shy smile. Then he left, and Damen had to lean against the bicycle stand behind him.  

He was grateful he hadn’t bought into the rumours. Who knows why everyone called Laurent a cast-iron bitch.  

  

-  

  

Damen walked back to the house with a spring in his step. Not only he had solved the problem, but Laurent was so lovely, and nice, and fucking hot.  

Maybe he could ask someone for Laurent's number. They were bound to have some friends in common.  

He finally turned the last corner and -  

_Motherfuckers_.  

The entire house had been TPed - and how had they managed to do it _in the middle of the day_ -, and the front door was adorned with a lopsided toilet paper star, with "I don't even think you tried at all" written under it.  

Damen glanced back at the other side of the street, where the Alpha Gamma Phi house stood unblemished.  

As if he'd been waiting for his return, Laurent exited it.  

"Boo-hoo, Damen," he shouted. Snickering could be heard from behind him.  

Then, Laurent waved, got back inside and shut the door behind him.  

A cast-iron bitch, indeed. 

  

-  

  

"You played me."  

Damen set two cups of coffee on the table in front of Laurent and sat down.  

"Not really," Laurent said. "Jokaste wanted to egg your house. Do you think I'm going to drink anything you buy me?"  

Damen lifted the two cups, swapped them and took a sip from the one that had been Laurent's.  

"Maybe you had planned for it," said Laurent, but he drank the coffee with an appreciative smirk. "Why is Jokaste so mad at you?"  

"I don't know. We had a fallout, but she broke up with me. I hadn't realised she was the one behind it."  

"She isn't. I am."  

Damen frowned. "But you have no reason."  

"Do I need one? You're a worthy opponent, Akielos. I know the roasted chicken in the air vent was your idea."  

"And the painted tees was yours. Too convoluted to be anyone else's."  

They sat there, staring at each other like overgrown children playing at who blinks first. Laurent was beautiful and tense, every gesture elegantly poised and restrained.   

Finally, "Yes," Laurent closed his notebook and gathered his things in his bag. "I'll see you around, Damen," he said, then stood up and went. 

  

-  

  

The thing is, Damen still wanted Laurent's number.  

There were plenty of people he could ask, since Laurent was fairly popular - probably more thanks to his looks than his charming disposition -, but that wasn't the way to go.  

Laurent needed to be wooed, and be wooed with wit.  

Alpha Gamma Phi and Damen's frat had two members who were dating, respectively Lazar and Pallas. Damen suspected Pallas had had a hand in more than one prank (the week of the pink catastrophe, Pallas had conveniently had no whites that needed washing). It was time to cash in on it.  

Thankfully, Lazar found Damen's idea hilarious and turned a blind eye as Damen and his teammates replaced every box of condoms and/or lube in the Alpha Gamma Phi’s house with a container of _I Can't Believe It's Not Butter_ , olive oil spread.  

  

-  

  

"Are you sure that's all you need?" Damen asked when he ran into Laurent at the 7 eleven near campus. The one with the condoms section right near the check-out.   

Damen gestured to the display. "Let me recommend you the cheeky cherry lube, a personal favourite. But you also may want to try the aloe vera one, you know, for that _burn_."  

Laurent let out a long-suffering sigh and started putting his groceries on the belt. 

"My room was the locked one."  

"That's fine," said Damen. "Not that I expected to find much in it."  

No one, of any gender, had ever bragged about sleeping with Laurent, which either meant no one had or Laurent had eaten their heads after sex, like a mantis. Now that Damen was getting to know him, the public opinion on Laurent seemed to be mostly correct, if a bit exaggerated.  

Laurent pursed his lips. 

"I thought a man with your integrity didn't listen to rumours. But I'll admit it, it was," he said the words as they physically pained him, "clever."  

"Was it," Damen beamed. "You should buy me a drink for that."  

"Were you finally hit on the head one too many times?" said Laurent.  

"Seven and eighty-seven," said the cashier. Laurent handed her a bill without taking his eyes off Damen.  

"No," said Damen. "It's just a drink, Laurent."  

Laurent bagged his stuff and took his change, but he hesitated until Damen's scanned things started hitting his grocery bag.  

Then, as if waking from a shameful daydream, he raised his chin defiantly and said, "In your dreams, Akielos."  

  

-  

  

Damen wasn't even mad when he woke up the next morning and found all the floors of the house covered in a suspiciously buttery substance with an intense smell of olive oil.    

There was a note addressed to the captain in the living room and, inside, written in neat black sharpie, "You buy me a drink."  

Alpha Gamma Phi - 1  

Damen's team - 0  

Damen's ego - several thousands  

  

-  

  

The doorbell first rang when Damen was halfway through his PowerPoint presentation and at the end of the fourth cup of coffee of the night.  

They weren't waiting for guests. They definitely weren't waiting for the ten people who were piled up in their porch.  

A voice in the back of his mind reminded Damen that Pallas was going to sleep at Lazar's tonight. With horror, Damen heard a member of the football team enter their house to a chant of "yaaaaaay partey" and realised why.  

As if summoned, the inhabitants of the house gathered in the kitchen. Damen started on his fifth cup of coffee.  

"What do we do," said Meniados.  

"We kick them out," said Nikandros.  

"Technically, we invited them," said Aktis, showing Damen a facebook page in which, indeed, the basketball team invited everyone to a night of ‘partying and perdition and (beer) pong’.  

"We can't have everyone think we can't throw a party," said Makedon. "The football team will never let us hear the end of it."  

"Right," said Damen, who was feeling the beginning of a headache in his temples. "Let's give them a night of partying and perdition and (beer) pong, then."  

  

-  

  

"Your ineptitude is showing again, Akielos. You owe me two drinks now."   

Even if he hadn't recognised the sharp voice, there was only one person with enough nerve to come upstairs and breach the unwritten rules about bedrooms and closed doors.  

Laurent walked in like he owned the place, striding toward the bed with clear plans to sit on it, but stopped when he was in front of it. Maybe he had boundaries too.  

He was wearing a grey cashmere sweater as if it was a proper attire for a frat party, and Damen found it endearing even through his exhaustion. Like finding cute a tiger about to have you for dinner.  

"I have a presentation tomorrow," Damen said, running a hand over his face. "Worth half of my grade."  

"Oh." Laurent looked genuinely surprised, not like that first time after his lecture. "I didn't know."  

"But Jokaste did."  

"Probably."  

Damen had to smile at how uncomfortable Laurent looked, standing there straight as a rod. It was a reassuring reaction.  

"I'm sorry." Laurent said the words like his tongue was sticky. "I'll go."  

Damen shook his head. "Sit down, I was about to take a break anyway. I'm done, I just need to come up with a speech and actually remember it. My fault for waiting till the very last minute."  

Laurent sat on the very edge of the bed and proceeded to have an intense internal battle with himself. It seemed something he did a lot.  

At the end of it, Laurent resolved to peel off his leather shoes – _leather shoes, had Laurent ever been to a frat party_ – and scoot back until his back was pressed to the headboard, his long legs stretched and crossed at the ankle.  

He said, mouth twitching, "Don't be too hard on yourself. Jocks aren't particularly renowned for their proficiency with time management. Or their proficiency with anything that doesn't require muscles and grunting."  

Laurent had punctuated the words with fast, harmonic movements of his fingers in the air, and Damen wanted to kiss him.  

"You're an athlete, too," he said, instead.  

"Yes, well. While you were busy climbing the social ladder during high school, I was the gay kid obsessed with horse riding. Not quite the same."  

Damen let out a bark of laughter at the deadpan delivery, and because he was bone deep tired, and he was now imagining a tinier Laurent marching through high school in his pretty sweaters and yelling at people to go fuck themselves.  

"High school kids are awful.” Damen tried his best to sound sympathetic. 

He didn't dwell on how seamlessly Laurent had let it slip into the conversation that he was interested in men. Something fluttered in his stomach, but it might have been the five cups of coffee.  

He stood up to join Laurent on the bed and was surprised when Laurent moved to one side of it, making space for him.  

"Bring your laptop," said Laurent. "You can explain your presentation to me."  

"It's boring engineering stuff," Damen said, but complied.  

He sat down next to him, and Laurent brought his knees up to his chest, like a shield. Damen wondered how much of an effort Laurent was making, or if he was just flattering himself.  

"As you're a boring engineering major, that is less of a surprise than you think it is." Laurent leant toward Damen to see his slides, still keeping his distance but close enough Damen could hear his smell. He smelled like those smartly dressed hot people in high end shopping centers who are paid to spray you with perfume when you least expect it. Damen would gladly buy a lifetime supply of Laurent's.  

"Let's see." For a moment, Laurent used a hand on Damen's knee to balance himself, and Damen barely survived the experience. "Please tell me there's no Comic Sans."  

"Only in an image, but it's ironic."  

"Of course you would put ironic images in presentations," Laurent sighed. "Come on then, we don't have all night."  

  

-  

  

It might have been a hazy dream, but Damen felt a rustling of sheets and a voice in his ear.  

"I can't let your teammates find me here." Knuckles trailed over the curve of Damen's cheek. "Good luck on your presentation, though I have no doubt you'll do well and will find a way to be obnoxious about it."  

"Then you'll owe me a drink too," he muttered, caught in between sleep and wake.  

A laughter like bells ringing. "Sure, Damianos."  

Damen tried so hard to wake, to open his eyes and move his arms and keep that wonderful heat close to his chest. But he couldn't and, when the heat was gone, he slipped back into slumber.  

  

-  

  

It wasn't a prank, per se, but Damen had found a way to be obnoxious about it.  

 “We’re not going to get caught,” Damen reassured Nikandros as he had been doing steadily for the past days, but even Nikandros seemed to be getting on with the program – and trying to get on with Jord from the football team, if the numbers of drinks he’d gotten for him was any indication. 

Nikandros hip-checked him, as his hands were occupied by two glasses of clear liquid that was definitely not water, then left to join Jord poolside. 

“The football team will have to admit defeat.” 

Damen turned to the voice. Finally, _finally_ , the only person he really wanted to see. Damen hadn’t seen Laurent since the partying and perdition and (beer) pong, but Laurent had texted him to ask about the presentation and Damen, after several drafts composed of only exclamation marks, had managed to compose an eloquent response. Laurent must know, he must know that this was for him. 

“A clandestine pool party is –“ 

“Impressive?” said Damen. 

Laurent smirked. “Adequate. Now, I think I was promised a drink.” 

  

- 

  

The bench they were sharing was in a corner, away from the main lights, and Laurent was so pale, his hair so fair, that all of him seemed tinged in blue. 

“All this fuss for a virgin mojito.”  

Damen nudged Laurent, who was sipping his mocktail from a straw in a way that made Damen very thankful it was so cold in the pool area.  

“I don’t drink, but it didn’t seem polite to say,” Laurent explained. He kept his shoulder near Damen’s, so that they touched every time they moved, an unpredictable little torture. 

Laurent didn’t give a fuck about politeness. He hadn’t said it because Damen would have taken it as a rejection and backed off. It was an even better reason. 

Damen took a drag of his actual mojito. “You know what they say about people who don’t drink.” 

“That they have secrets to keep? What a ridiculous notion. Everyone has secrets.” 

“Of course your mind went immediately to subterfuge and deception.” Damen shook his head. “No, what I meant is, you don’t know how to have fun.” 

Laurent snarled. “That is just incorrect.” He stood up and handed Damen his glass. “You know what would be funny now? Your face as I do this.” 

Laurent peeled off his shirt, stepped forward and disappeared into the water, and Damen was left wondering how many times he’d have to watch Laurent get away yet. 

  

- 

  

There was a sick fresher in the changing rooms, or so they told Damen. That was bad, as not getting caught inherently implied not having to call an ambulance.  

Damen didn’t possess healing properties, but he had enough authority to convince the kid to go be sick in the peace of his dorm, or the kid’s roommates if he was too far gone already. They’d all been there, done that. 

He walked to the changing rooms with a small flock of concerned people shadowing him. Indeed, there was a person sitting on one of the benches. He stepped inside, his arm rising to put a comforting hand on the kid’s arm. 

The kid was – _Laurent_? 

Several things happened at once. Laurent stood up, alarmed. Damen caught his forearm. Most prominently, the door snapped shut behind him. They could hear a key turning, followed by snickering.  

Damen was really getting sick of hearing snickering behind closed doors. 

Laurent, of course, was stone cold sober, his sharp lucid gaze flickering from the door, to Damen’s hand, to Damen’s face. His breathing was shallow, shallower than it ought to be, his skin wet and clammy. 

“Laurent,” Damen said, and that stroke something in him, for he tore his arm out of Damen’s grasp with a hiss. 

“Don’t touch me,” Laurent said. His voice was measured, but every part of him was in tension, as if it was taking all of his will to keep it together. 

“Are you claustrophobic?” 

It was the only explanation that made sense, but, "No,” Laurent said, “I don't like locked rooms.” His fists were clenching and unclenching. “I don't like being with someone in a locked room."  

Damen could be very patient and understanding, but that was too much.  

"Are you serious? Laurent, do you think I'd do anything to you?" 

He couldn’t keep the hurt out of his voice and that, too, at least, had an effect on Laurent. 

Laurent slumped down with his back against a row of lockers and sat on the floor, legs crossed and first pressed against his eye-sockets. 

When he removed his hands “No,” he said. “No I don’t. I’m sorry.” 

Damen sighed, and sat down too, but on the opposite side as Laurent, as not to spook him. “Why were you even in here?” 

“I took a shower. I don’t like chlorine.” 

Damen wanted to laugh, but he suppressed it. Laurent looked pitiful, half-naked and shivering, and there was nothing truly funny about their predicament. 

He took off his shirt, which prompted a caustic, “What are you doing,” from Laurent. 

“Here.” He rolled it in a ball and tossed it to Laurent. “I don’t want you to freeze.” 

Laurent caught it, then held it in his hands like he’d never seen a shirt before. Damen had no trouble imagining the dozen of rude phrases that had to be going through Laurent’s mind. 

The silence that followed was more surprising. Wordlessly, Laurent slipped the shirt over his head and burrowed into it. He must have been cold. 

  

-  

  

Damen couldn’t tell how much time had passed, since the mechanics of this party meant he wasn’t carrying around his phone or his watch. He was just dozing off when Laurent let out a frustrated huff and stalked his way to the other side of the room, plopping down next to him. 

Damen hoped he was over whatever had taken him before - but no, that was a mean thought. Laurent's distressed had been real and irrational. It was no wonder he was shaken.  

"Are you alright?" Damen asked. He tried not to make it sound patronising, nor overly worried. 

Laurent nodded. He let his forehead fall over Damen's shoulder.  

“When I’m with you," his voice was thin and brittle, "I don’t know what to do with myself.” 

“Do nothing,” Damen said, although there was no harder thing to ask of Laurent, and draped an arm around him.  

 

- 

 

Damen woke up the next morning determined to make a peace offering. An I'm Sorry We Got Locked In A Room And You Panicked offering. 

Mostly, he wanted to check in on Laurent without alerting Laurent that he was checking in on him.  

"We have a home game on Saturday. You should come," he texted. The wikihow's page on developing relationships recommended an afternoon activity in an informal social setting, to ease the pressure. 

Laurent made him wait precisely 20 minutes to answer, on the dot, if there was any doubt that it was deliberate. 

"So I can get locked in _your_ locker room?"  

And Damen had been worried he'd have to be delicate and skirt around the topic. 

"It wasn't them. But I told them to cut it out anyway. Nothing's gonna happen to you." 

"I can't. Training." This time the answer had been immediate. 

"Ok," Damen wrote back, and thought that was it. He had tried. 

As he pocketed it, though, his phone chimed again. 

"I have a competition on Sunday," Laurent had written. 

Damen smiled and sent back a horse emoji. It may be nothing, but Laurent wasn't the type to give unnecessary information. It looked an awful lot like an invite. 

  

-  

  

Horse riding did in fact include team events. Men and women competed together, which Damen could have gathered from Jokaste and Laurent living in the same house, and one of the individual events apparently involved guiding the horse through an intricate choreography and looking pretty while doing it. 

It sounded like Laurent's kind of thing. 

Horse shows didn't appear to have a unified structure, and could take place in a single day or be spread in a prolonged horse fest, or so google informed him. Thankfully today's was the former, as Damen felt he needed to be initiated gently to the sport. 

Damen was unsure of the proper etiquette of conduct. He didn't know if seeing him would throw Laurent off his game or if, instead, Laurent was expecting for him to come and would be distracted by thoughts of his absence. 

His crisis was postponed by the arrival of Jokaste. 

"He invited you," she said, nodding to herself. She was wearing a form fitting dark blue jacket and light pants with tall black riding boots, and was holding a riding crop in her hands. Damen tried to visualise the outfit on Laurent  and, as consequence, had to undo the first button of his shirt. 

"Hello to you too, Jokaste." 

"Yes, yes, whatever," she waved him off. "I knew this would happen. Certainly, it took some creativity, because you two are stubborn oblivious people, but." 

_Stubborn oblivious --_  

"We are what?" Damen felt he had to sit down, but he already was, so he stood up instead. "Was all this some ill-advised matchmaking attempt? You put shaving cream in my shower gel." 

"Oh no," said Jokaste. "That's me being my chaotic neutral self. You two were just a fun little side project." 

"He almost had a panic attack." 

"And didn't he find comfort in your strong mighty arms?" But she rolled her eyes because Damen could protest further. "I didn't know he had a problem with closed spaces. We talked. I apologised." Her mouth quirked. "Kind of." 

"Where is he, by the way?" If they had to talk about Laurent, it could at least be useful. 

"Talking to Starburst, probably." 

"Starburst?" 

"His horse." 

_Of course_. Damen nodded. He gave inventive pep talks to the guys before games. Sometimes he gave pep talks to the ball. If he were a rider, he'd give pep talks to his horse too. 

"He's intense about his pre-competition routine," explained Jokaste. 

Damen grinned. "I am shocked." 

"Right." Jokaste clapped her hands together and the riding crop made a whipping sound into the air that wasn't intimidating at all. "This has been fun. Let's never do it again ever." 

"Good luck today, Jokaste." 

Jokaste hummed. "I'll tell him you're here," she said. 

Damen thought it wise not to question the origin of such kindness. 

The only acknowledgment Damen got from Laurent throughout the day was a nod in passing, but Damen couldn't fault him - he knew how focus worked. Laurent casted glances in his direction sometimes, though, when he was waiting for his score after an event or when he was done and could only watch the rest of the competition. 

Not that it was much of a competition at all. 

Laurent was the captain not only because it was unlikely to find someone bossier than him. He was the best in the team, and the best in the whole day. He won by a landslide in all the individual events and no one acted surprised by it, as if the first place had been his by default. 

Still, this waiting game and Laurent's looks - like he was reassuring himself Damen was still there - did nothing to dimmer the heady cocktail of pride and simmering anticipation that swam around Damen's mind. 

 

- 

 

There were ceremonies, during which Laurent collected a bouquet of ribbons to match his eyes, then the horses had to be tended to, then the riders had to be tended to, and then it was over, and Laurent appeared in front of him. 

He was dressed just like Jokaste, but the front of his jacket was open, his shirt partly untucked. 

"You came," he said, stopping so close the tips of their shoes almost touched. His cheeks were flushed a dusty pink, from exertion and from relief. 

"You won," Damen said, exhilarated. 

And when Laurent's body crashed into his, their arms holding on so tight Damen felt like Laurent's heart was beating in his own chest, it was just a matter of letting himself fall. 

 

-  

 

"Sorry about that." Laurent led Damen inside his room with a hand on his wrist.  

He had dragged him upstairs as soon as he could excuse himself from the celebrations, which, since he was the star and the main reason they had won as a team at all,  wasn't soon at all. 

He had been brash on the stairs, tugging him with an urgency so matching Damen's own he left him breathless. Now, in the dim light of his bedside lamp, Laurent moved gingerly, with a rigidity that screamed alarm instead of control. 

"Laurent --" 

"On the bed," said Laurent. He needed to feel in charge; Damen could give him that. 

He complied, lying down on his back. He leant back on his elbows and spread his legs, enough to be suggestive, enough for Laurent to know he could have him however he wanted. 

Laurent took his time to come to him. He had changed into casual clothes for the party, or what Laurent considered casual clothes. Damen had never been more grateful for it now that he could witness Laurent opening the buttons of his silk dress shirt one- handed, as he used the other as leverage on the mattress. 

When one knee landed between his tights, Damen lifted a hand and let it hover near Laurent's hip, the silk brushing his fingertips as more and more skin was revealed. 

"Yes," said Laurent. 

Damen's reaction was immediate. He pushed up, palms circling Laurent's narrow waist under the open fabric, and their faces so close, and Laurent so beautiful, that the kiss was an inevitability. 

Even something as simple as kissing was tortuous with Laurent. Damen could feel the planning behind each gesture, the strain. 

He thrust his hips upwards and Laurent had to moan this time and that, that was true. 

"Clothes off," Laurent ordered, as if his brief moment of spontaneity had to be rectified immediately. 

Damen paused, his hands simply sliding up and down Laurent's sides. He had had sex with a lot of people, virgins as well, but he knew that what people had decided they should do wasn't always what they should actually do. 

"You may want to stop," he said, amused, because his was a suggestion, not an order, "or we'll need to borrow some of your housemates' _I Can't Believe It's Not Butter_." 

Laurent's shoulders relaxed ans his lips twitched, and he looked like he'd just remembered why he was here, doing this with Damen. Not one to admit defeat easily, he reached into his bedside table and tossed a bottle of lube at him.  

"I don't see what point you're trying to make with that," Damen said. "It still has the wrapping on." 

"The point is that I like to be prepared." Laurent cupped Damen's face with a tenderness that had his beat speed up. "Damen, I went to 7 eleven and had to buy shit I didn't need so I wouldn't be the guy who came in just for cheeky cherry lube. I want this. I made plans for this. The least you could do is fuck me." 

It took Laurent lifting an eyebrow at him for Damen to realise he was frowning. 

"What now?" asked Laurent. 

Damen took him more firmly into his arms until their chests were pressed together. "Not fuck," he said, "make love." 

"Good grief," said Laurent, and hit him with the cheeky cherry lube bottle. 

 

- 

 

("Sleeping --" muttered Nikandros into his pillow, "literally sleeping with the enemy --". He shuddered with the feeling that something terrible was happening, but he went back to sleep, unaware of the life-changing thing that was blossoming on the other side of the street and, most importantly, of the paper cups filled with water that now occupied the entire first floor of the frat house.) 

 

 


End file.
